


Sleepwalkers

by Massgrav



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Angst, Blood Magic, Journaling, Jowan's POV, Kinloch Hold, M/M, Memories, Sad Fluff, Sort Of, Tagged M for violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-16
Updated: 2020-11-16
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:54:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27595114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Massgrav/pseuds/Massgrav
Summary: "I hated him, upon that moment. I despised and cursed him, but not once did I wish to break from him. I could, he told me. I needed only to ask, and he would cease these cruel minstrations. But I needed help – his help, no matter the cost of it. I would have gone through any torture he deemed good to put me under.Perhaps this stubborness of mine was how I gained his affection ? I cannot tell, even now, why it began. It just did."—Memory is like a cemetery. Sometimes, ghosts rise.
Relationships: Jowan/Uldred (Dragon Age)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 6





	Sleepwalkers

**Author's Note:**

> The things a whole day of gaming do to you... My ship came back to haunt me, and this is my excuse. Enjoy ♥ 
> 
> (Title from Draconian, whose album 'Under A Godless Veil' I blasted, VENGEFULLY.)

It was comforting that he should frighten me. At least, I knew there was nothing else that could inspire me greater fear. But, looking back, I think I would have preferred it to remain this way. Fear is easier to master than sorrow.   
I cannot recall exactly when this shift occured. It has been such a long time now. Why are these memories coming back to the surface only now ? No, this is not what is happening. They have always been here, at the back of my mind, angel-guarding me. And they have accomplished their duty : no fear, no genuine terror has reached me ever since I ran from Kinloch Hold, a decade ago now. Not even when I was captured and commanded to poison Arl Eamon. Not even when the Templars brought me back to the Tower, for me to face Tranquility or death. Not even when I broke free from them, and began to flee restlessly.

His mentoring me was indeed terrifying, and painful ; but it did shape me accordingly to face this world. Would I have survived for so long in Redcliff Castle's dungeons, had I not known how to respond to torture ? Would I have known to assume a mask of regret and repentance, had he not taught me how to deceive ? _You look as harmless as a lamb,_ he once told me. _Use it to your advantage. Give them what they expect to see.  
_ Thanks to Uldred, I never feared either pain or demons, or the extent of human madness. I never truly redoubted anything, for it always paled in comparison with what _he_ had put me through. All these nights sacrificed to the benefit of learning – the _hard_ way – were not in vain. He pushed me to my limits, to the edge of exhaustion and resilience, only to make certain I would be familiar with all sorts of torment this world held for me.   
He once made me remain awake for ten days in a row, ensuring I did not transgress to his rule by luring a demon to me : it would possess me if I were to fall asleep but for a minute. I hated him, upon that moment. I despised and cursed him, but not once did I wish to break from him. I could, he told me. I needed only to ask, and he would cease these cruel minstrations. But I needed help – _his_ help, no matter the cost of it. I would have gone through any torture he deemed good to put me under. 

  
Perhaps this stubborness of mine was how I gained his affection ? I cannot tell, even now, why it began. It just did.

  
One night, as he read to me from an ancient, surely forbidden volume, my attention gradually drifted from the book's content and on to him. I gazed at his long fingers flipping the pages, at his bony hands – _these_ hands that had choked, beaten, bruised me so often, but that I cherished so dearly. Did they not also heal every token of passed violence, when dawn rose and the lesson came to an end ? He always took it all away. Every wound, every mark was wiped away as easily as tears. Learning took pain, and he made certain there was enough of it.   
I see myself upon that moment again : I grow oblivious to the words he pronounces, as I only listen to his voice, and watch the changing shapes his lips take. I still see the curved letters reflected in his eyes of steel, and how my own eyes linger there.   
When he spotted my inattention, his glare cut me open instantly, but his remark was delayed. A moment of silence settled, that was _not_ meant as to make me feel the weight of my stupidity. It was unexpected, unplanned, uncontrolled. This speck of silence was our prisoner – just as I were his, and he were mine.

  
As thanks to a sudden revelation, I all at once understood that he would not treat me with such dedicated cruelty if he did not care for me. He never bothered teaching to anyone, so why would he have taken such a fond interest in the _worst_ Apprentice this tower had ever imprisoned ? Challenges are entertaining only for some time. He should have had grown tired of me a long time ago, but he never did. 

  
_Do you think I read archaic languages for pleasure ?_ He eventually hissed at me. _Perhaps lectures are irrelevant, and I should stick to hammering some knowledge into you – literally._

_  
_I laughed – a mistake, evidently, as the blow that sent me to the floor let me know. I never underestimated his strength, especially since I once saw him breaking a Templar's arm through the armour. But I was always astonished by how easily he could break me, if he truly wished to.  
I recall getting up again, sitting down as though nothing had happened, and trying not to be distracted by the blood flooding my mouth. My bottom lip was split, and my teeth had ripped the inside of my cheek. Pain tingled all through me, strangely working in the favour of my concentration, as I prepared to pay attention this time. But I had no opportunity to do so.   
I heard him sighing, gesturing in frustration as he gave up on the old volume. I did not know what I should expect : to be sent back to my dorm, or to be dragged towards _another_ sort of lesson ? I will always remember how close his chamber of horrors was to this room. To 'hammer some knowledge into me' was never to be taken as a metaphor – though he usually favoured blades.

  
But of all the horrors I was envisioning, none happened. I could never have expected him to gently cup my chin, as his other hand shimmered with healing magic, its ribbons weaving around his fingers as they came to brush at my bruised mouth. Unlike he usually did, he took his time. He remained silent, a strange expression upon his features. He seemed unwilling to look at something else than my lips, as though glancing away from them would have disrupted his spell. I was already at a loss, and my bewilderment did not falter when his hand slipped from my chin to the back of my head. He stroked my hair, soflty, as I could not help but _stare_ with wide, silly eyes. _I'm sorry_ , he whispered. To this day, I cannot recall having ever been given a more sincere apology.

_You can sleep here_ , he said, withdrawing from this moment in limbo, getting up and folding the heavy volume shut. The dust that its yellowed pages sent off prickled his eyes – yes, I still blame it on the dust. _The Templars have reinforced their patrols, it's not safe to sneak out at such a late hour. I will wake you up when morning comes._ He then bade me goodnight, avoiding to look at me even once before he walked out.   
It was not the first time I had slept in that secret study of his, however it had never been _suggested_ to me. I usually woke up there in pain, cramped, and more tired than once should feel upon stirring awake. This time however, no matter how exhausted I felt, I had trouble falling asleep. I still felt the cold, unearthly touch of his hands, and still floated with the shivers they had risen. Ultimately, _they_ cradled me to sleep.

  
When Uldred woke me up, I could not help but smile, and feel an immense joy at his sight. How to explain this ? I think I was always glad to see him, even if secretly – shamefully, perhaps. _The morning bell has tolled,_ he whispered, careful not to startle me. _The Tower is already busy, you won't be spotted if you slip into the flock._ I nodded, repressing a yawn and another smile, feeling oddly at peace.   
It was soft, pure, almost innocent – but incomplete. There was something missing. An embrace, our locked limbs, our clasped hands ; these unnumbered moments of tenderness that now haunt me. They were missing then, are so are they now – have they always been ghosts ?  
Perhaps I will write them down too, if their memory is too heavy on my heart.

**Author's Note:**

> (The lyrics in question :   
> "Come into the fray  
> For everything we've become  
> In this cell we call home  
> Lost in this iron-clad song.")
> 
> Thank you for reading. Please let me know what you thought! ♥


End file.
